


Catharsis

by PunsBulletsAndPointyThings



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: GFY, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of tears, Memories, Obi-Wan is Tired, Qui-Gon Jinn mention but not an active character, Whump, mental and emotional exhaustion, tinnitus mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 16:46:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13011963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunsBulletsAndPointyThings/pseuds/PunsBulletsAndPointyThings
Summary: Normally, the silence of his Temple quarters didn't bother Obi-Wan. Often, it was even a relief.But not today.





	Catharsis

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I SWEAR I have not abandoned my WIPs. They are coming, I promise. I just...need to ease myself back into fic writing. It's been a while.
> 
> That said, apparently today my brain wanted to be REALLY MEAN to poor Obi-Wan, so....
> 
> sorry?

Most days, Obi-Wan did not mind the silence that filled his quarters. Indeed, after weeks or even months at a time stuck on battlefields and in a ship filled to the brim with men, he often welcomed the respite his quarters in the Temple offered; a chance to breathe, to collect his thoughts and simply _be._

Not today though.

Today, the silence rubbed at him, an ever-present discomfort in the back of his mind, like an aching joint or blister. It rattled around his skull as he tried to take advantage of the brief, and oh so rare, leave period he had been given, stirring up memories and thoughts he had long pushed aside.

He should be used to this by now, to the silence that hung like a fog in the rooms he had spent most of his Temple life in, that had been there for years. Anakin was Knighted, and while he had never gotten rooms of his own (too busy with the war, too rarely at home), he spent few of his nights, or days, off in the Temple.  Obi-Wan knew exactly where he ended up, of course, but he had been turning a blind eye to his former student’s marital status for years, and he wasn’t about to stop now. Anyone could see that Padme made Anakin happy in a way nothing else did and grounded him in a way Obi-Wan had never been able to. Who was Obi-Wan, to deny him that piece of happiness and serenity, when they had spent the past two years of their lives going from battle to battle?

Obi-Wan frowned, shaking his head a little, and stared at the plant he was in the middle of watering. Its broad leaves were slightly paler than they ought to be, and starting to droop rather pathetically.

It had been a favorite of Qui-Gon’s.

 _“They are such moody things,”_ his Master had said, grinning with unabashed delight as he fussed over their newest addition to the ever-growing arboretum that was their quarters. _“They require lots of care, and plenty of water.”_

Obi-Wan had given Qui-Gon an exasperated look. _“Master, we are hardly ever here! Why would you get such a fragile plant! As soon as we get an extended mission, it’s going to die!”_

But Qui-Gon had laughed and tugged on Obi-Wan’s braid affectionately. _“Trust in the Force, Obi-Wan, and in me! Everything will be fine.”_

Obi-Wan had huffed, only just resisting the urge to toss his arms up in the air in defeat. _“Alright, Master. But if it dies, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”_

The plant had not died; rather, it had flourished, somehow, despite their regular long absences from the Temple. Obi-Wan had never managed to figure out exactly what Qui-Gon did to maintain it, but nevertheless, the plant had stayed green and vibrant.

Until now.

Obi-Wan reached out and brushed his fingers across one of the plant’s central leaves, still small and soft, curled tight in the center of the spray. It at least was still vibrant, unaware of and unaffected by the slow wasting of its outermost border. Qui-Gon had loved this plant.

“I am sorry, my friend,” he murmured, his voice soft even though there was no one else to hear it. His throat felt tight. He swallowed, trying to rid himself of the sensation, to no avail.

He turned away from the plant. Tea. He needed tea.

Keeping his thought fixed firmly on that, on the moment, Obi-Wan strode into the kitchen. There was already water in the kettle, he knew, and it was only a moment and a touch of energy to use the Force to turn the stove on. Frivolous perhaps, but who was there to judge him?

No one.

With a sharp exhale, Obi-Wan opened a cupboard. The jar of tea sat on the bottom shelf, and above that sat two neat rows of teacups, all but one turned upside down to stop them from collecting dust. All but his own.

Obi-Wan stared at the cup, the silence rattling around his head like a marble. The tightness in his throat had, at some point, trickled down to fill his chest, and suddenly he could feel its presence. The only sounds that filled his ears were his own breathing, and the faint buzzing that was always there, the result of being too close to one too many explosions.

He shut the cupboard, turned off the stove with shaking fingers, and took a deep, shuddering breath.

It was too quiet. Too quiet, and it was eating away at him. These quarters, they weren’t meant for one person alone. Once, they had been filled with life, with warmth.

Now, they had only him.

Obi-Wan felt the first tear slid down his face only distantly. It wasn’t until a second, then a third joined it that he finally registered they belonged to him. _His_ tears. _He_ was crying. Slowly, he walked out of the kitchen and sank down onto the ragged couch in the main room, the same couch that had already been there the first day he walked through the door.

The ache in his throat spiked to something like pain, and his vision blurred. Obi-Wan wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and then squeezed them shut, trying to quell the tears before they could grow.

“Come on, Kenobi. Stop being foolish,” he said. The words came out as whispers and shook pitifully, but they sounded too loud in the silence of the room. “Stop crying. That won’t do anything.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and with it, so did his strength.

Crying wouldn’t do anything. Why would it? There was no one there to see his tears, no one there to comfort him, to learn the reason for his grief. Even if there was, Obi-Wan could hardly even begin to explain where this all had come from. It just swelled in him, the one tiny crack abruptly giving way to the entire wall crumbling down into dust, as a sob welled up in his throat.

Wrapping his arms around himself, Obi-Wan surrendered to it, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed into the empty air. He felt cold, hollow but for the yawning pit of grief that seemed to be eating up everything else that he was, and he was tired. So. Tired.

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want these cold, empty rooms, or the colder, emptier bunk that awaited him aboard the _Vigilance_. He didn’t want to fight anymore, to give orders and watch his men march off, again and again, only to return in smaller and smaller numbers. He didn’t want to sit on the Council and play god, deciding who deserved the Jedi’s help based on military advantage rather than actual need. He didn’t want to watch the shadows in Anakin’s eyes grow, or Ahsoka’s childhood trickle away.

He just. Wanted. To sleep.

Behind him, the door hissed opened, letting the sounds of conversation and laughter trickle in from the hallway beyond. Those sounds did not last long beyond the threshold of the door, however, and Obi-Wan did not both raising his head, couldn’t have even if he had wanted to, as Anakin’s startled voice drifted towards him.

“Obi-Wan?”

He opened his mouth, intending to offer words of reassurance; he was fine, he just needed a moment, and then he would be alright, but instead, all that came out was a ragged sob that shook his whole body.

“General.”

Rex’s voice, soft and startled, horrified. Obi-Wan held himself tighter, his own horror bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Bad enough that Anakin found him like this, but for one of the men, for _Rex,_ to see...

The silence swelled again, with only Obi-Wan to break it. He tried to stop, truly he did, but the tears paid him no heed as they continued to fall.

Then, there was a sudden, sharp intake of breath, and someone moved. Heavy footsteps filled the air, a solid, rhythmic sound that battered back at the silence, and then the couch shifted under Obi-Wan as someone sat down beside him.

“General?”

Rex.

A moment of hesitation.

“Obi-Wan? Sir, can you hear me?”

Obi-Wan managed a breath that was more or less steady and nodded. Raising his head was a chore, but he managed it, with some effort, rubbing at his eyes as he met Rex’s gaze. His breath caught.

Rex’s face was awash with worry, open and unguarded.

“Obi-Wan?” he asked again. “What’s wrong? Sir.”

The honorific was an afterthought, hastily tacked on, and Obi-Wan shook his head at the sound of it, his eyes inexplicably filling again. “Don’t call me that. Please. I can’t be him today.”

He hardly recognized his own voice when it slipped past his lips.

“Who?” Rex asked, gently, like he was worried Obi-Wan would spook otherwise.

“Sir. General. Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Negotiator.” He tried to spit the words, but they just came out sounding tired. “I can’t. I’m tired, Rex.” A plea, and one that Rex heard. Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan, pulling him into a tight embrace, like he was trying to wrap himself around Obi-Wan entirely, and Obi-Wan would have let him.

“Then rest.”

Obi-Wan shuddered, pressing closer and burying his face in Rex’s shoulder as a fresh wave of sobs shook through him. Rex held him tighter, and after a minute of shifting, Obi-Wan felt warm, calloused fingers card his hair.

And then someone was sitting down on Obi-Wan’s free side, tentative.

“I…Master?”

Anakin’s voice was soft and younger than Obi-Wan had heard him sound in years, and it made Obi-Wan’s heartache and guilt gnaw at his stomach. He was supposed to protect Anakin, not this. Unable to bring himself to pull away from the solid warmth and safety of Rex’s arms, Obi-Wan reached out in the Force, dropping his shields to open his side of the old training bond he and Anakin still shared, though rarely used these days. A part of him tensed, half expecting the offer to be refused, but then Anakin’s shields fell, more thrown down than lowered, and he flooded the old bond with a veritable sea of worry and shock and disbelief because _Obi-Wan, Perfect, Never Cries,_ and over it all, a love so strong it stole Obi-Wan’s breath and made the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end. Anakin let out a shocked “ _Oh,”_ and then his warmth was pressed along Obi-Wan’s back as well as filling his mind.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan whispered, helpless against the care and love he could feel pouring off both men. “I’m sorry. I just…I can’t.”

“Shh,” Rex soothed.

“Don’t apologize,” Anakin mumbled, his voice muffled against Obi-Wan’s shoulder blade. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I should be strong than this.”

“No one can be strong all the time,” Rex said gently, his fingers keeping up a steady, grounding rhythm in Obi-Wan’s hair. “Not even you.”

“But I—“

“You don’t have to be strong all time, Obi-Wan,” Anakin insisted. “You’re allowed to stop. You’re allowed to rest. It’s okay to need support. You taught me that, remember?”

He did. He remembered Anakin, young and brilliant and _determined,_ a newly freed slave dropped into a new world, alone but for a grieving young man for a teacher, and terrified at being sent back. For months, he had not asked for anything, never shown anything that could be perceived as weakness where anyone might see. It had taken Obi-Wan far too long to notice, struggling as he was with the vast, heartbreaking hole Qui-Gon’s death had torn in him.

And then, one day, Obi-Wan had returned home to find Anakin crying silently as he struggled with a bacta pad, a shallow but nevertheless terrifying looking gash in his leg. He had tried to hide it, denied his tears when he had seen Obi-Wan standing there, pale with shock, but gentle prompting had finally gotten the story out of him. He had gotten lost and fallen down a flight of stairs, somehow managing to catch his leg on the sharp corner at the bottom of the railing.

 _“You aren’t alone, Ani,”_ Obi-Wan had said, as he had carefully taken the bacta pad from the boy’s hands and moved to apply it for him. _“You don’t have to be afraid to ask for help.”_

 _“Mom said I had to be strong,”_ Anakin had insisted, but there had been a tremor in his voice and his eyes still shone with unshed tears.

Obi-Wan had carefully finished wrapping the cut, which was thankfully far less severe than first glance suggested, and sat back on his heels so he could gather Anakin up in his arms.

 _“It’s alright to be strong,”_ he had said, as his Padawan had sniffled against his shoulder. _“But sometimes, true strength is knowing when to be weak, and when to let others help you. Being strong doesn’t have to mean being alone.”_

“Remember?” Anakin said again, wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist. “Remember what you told me. _Being strong doesn’t mean being alone._ You aren’t alone, Master. You don’t have to be strong now.”

“You don’t have to be strong,” Rex agreed, voice gentle but fiercely loyal. “We’re here. Let us be strong for you, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes as the arms around him tightened. Warmth was seeping into his bones, filling the holes the silence had burned in him, soothing the ache.

He nodded against Rex’s shoulder.

Strong. He could let them be strong for him. At least for now.


End file.
